


We're Meant For Something More

by MsBrightsideSH



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dating, Kidnapping, M/M, Romance, first fic ever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-07
Updated: 2012-09-05
Packaged: 2017-11-11 16:16:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/480417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsBrightsideSH/pseuds/MsBrightsideSH
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story is set between "A Scandal in Belgravia" and "The Hounds Of Baskerville", because I just couldn't deal with Reichenbach. John thinks too much about Sherlock and tries to distract himself with dating. Sherlock isn't pleased but can't really figure out why. Eventual slash. Explicit rating for later chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic, not just in the Sherlock fandom but ever. So, please be gentle. Thanks a thousand times to SherlocksScarf, my wonderful beta. Go and read her stories, they're beautiful.  
> Sherlock doesn't belong to me, I asked the guys who own this series, and they won't even share :(

Chapter One

Heavy rain was falling over London, making everything seem grey while pounding against the windows of 221B Baker Street.  
John Watson was sitting next to one of those windows, gloomily looking outside. It had been pouring like this for days now, and he was starting to go mad.   
Usually, he liked walking through the streets just to free his mind of thoughts and breathing some fresh air. Now, however, he was still sitting here, not able to concentrate on anything.  
Usually, John didn't mind walking in the rain, but since he had moved into Baker Street, he was trying to avoid getting sick. Currently, he was having a little cold and he didn't want to take the risk and let it become a serious one. The last time he had been sick enough to make him stay in bed for a few days, Sherlock had been so insecure in the end that he needed more support than John himself, because he wasn't used to take care of someone.  
John smiled thinking of Sherlock's pathetic attempts of cooking a simple soup for his flatmate – how he had survived before John had moved in was beyond the older man.   
The detective had probably lived on Chinese takeaway. Or rats or something. John smiled again. The next second, he cursed himself for not paying attention to what he was actually trying to do.  
He had taken a week off just for the opportunity to update his blog – something he hadn't done in at least a month – and now he was just sitting there, dreaming around, letting his thoughts wander off to somewhere – or, more correctly, someone. He didn't like to admit it even to himself, but he was thinking an awful lot about Sherlock lately.  
But that was only natural, right?  
Not only was he his flatmate and his colleague, he was also one of the best friends John had ever had.  
Besides, they spent most of their time together anyway, so thinking about Sherlock was probably the most logical reaction of his brain. Damn. He really had to write now.  
“A Scandal in Belgravia” he typed. Yes, that sounded suitable. He hesitated for a moment, unsure where to begin.   
An image of Sherlock in a sheet – and only a sheet – sitting on a sofa in Buckingham Palace popped into John's head. It had been almost ridiculously funny, both of them giggling like schoolboys.  
At the same time, something else crossed the doctor's mind. Him asking if Sherlock was wearing any pants, the detective's 'no' and then their laughter. But a strange kind of excitement, one he couldn't really classify, made John swallow quite hard.  
He was just sure he didn't want to think about this right now. He sighed. Sherlock, obviously annoyed, looked up from his whatever-it-was-good-for-experiment.  
"Just go out and take a walk, John," he snapped. “You're driving me insane with your constant sighing and breathing and thinking!"   
"Sorry, Sherlock, " John muttered. "You're probably right. I'm gonna call Clarice, see if she wants to have coffee or something."  
"Who the hell is Clarice?"  
"Come on, you know her, we've been dating for a few weeks now."  
"Couldn't care less."  
"Fine!"  
John was strangely upset by his flatmate's answers. He headed out the living room, phoned Clarice and left for his date about half an hour later.  
oOo 

Another girl. Great. Another few weeks that John would at first come home late, and after some time not before morning, beaming, with ruffled hair and crumpled clothes and this unbelievably stupid I-had-amazing-sex-last-night-but-please-don't-let-that-bother-you-with-your-experiments-smile. Sherlock hated this smile. It came from a world he didn't understand and no one expected him to understand, and if there was something Sherlock disliked - quite a list, actually, but this being pretty much on the top - then it was not understanding something and people knowing about it.  
He still thought that sentiment was an unnecessary weakness. Well, since he knew John, it was something else. John was the first real friend he ever had in his whole life. Not that he had missed friends before moving into 221B, but now he couldn't imagine a life without the doctor.   
He hated the thought of being alone again. Almost as much, however, he hated the thought of John being with some random girl once more. But that was probably just what a friend felt, right?

oOo

When John came home his hair wasn't ruffled, just awfully wet from the rain. Also, he wasn't wearing his smile. Of course it was too early for that stuff, anyway, but Sherlock felt a certain satisfaction looking at his friend's face. John didn't look too happy. If Sherlock had have any sense for feelings, he would have probably felt at least a little bit bad of how glad the kind of angry, kind of sad look on John's face made him, but well, he was Sherlock Holmes after all.  
He didn't say a word, looking down on his experiments again as if they were more important than anything around him, although, for a second, he didn't even remember what they were useful for.  
John cleared his throat, taking off jacket and shoes and shook his head a bit to get the water out of his hair. It didn't work. Very slowly, Sherlock lifted his gaze again.   
"Fancy a cup? You look like you could need one. Mrs. Hudson just brought some tea upstairs." "Thank you". John flung himself into his favourite armchair, not making the impression of someone who planned on getting up from it in the next weeks.   
"I might not be an expert here, but judging to your behaviour and the look on your face, your date wasn't very ...successful."   
John sighed.   
"No, not really. I guess she's not my type, after all." Sherlock allowed himself a slight grin behind his cup.   
"Well, I still have plenty of phone numbers from that night out with the team..." Sherlock almost dropped his tea.   
"You're going to meet another girl?" he asked astonished. John had closed his eyes and leaned his head back.   
"Of course. What did you think? One doesn't simply give up just because something doesn't work out from time to time, right?"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

'One doesn't simply give up just because something doesn't work out from time to time.'

John could still hear his own voice. He had to believe this. That he had felt absolutely nothing when he was talking to Clarice, although she had been looking

stunningly pretty with her wide green eyes and her dark curly hair, it didn't have to mean anything.

That her curls had only reminded him of Sherlock was surely nothing to be worried about, either. She just hadn't been his type; so what?

He´d try again and again and again if that was necessary to ban the face of his colleague from his mind at least for a few hours.

"I'm not gay," he told himself firmly. He was really trying to believe it.

 

The next day, the rain had finally stopped and John was also working again. He kept himself busy the whole time, avoiding any thought that was even a bit 

related to Sherlock.

The last patient he talked to was a very sweet young woman called Ellis. Normally, John would probably have lacked the guts to ask her out, but today he didn't 

even hesitate when he asked for her number. She smiled shyly, handing it to him and asking if he wasn't maybe free tomorrow right after work.

He said yes without even thinking about it.

While he was going home on the tube, he hummed a little. Everything was going to be all right.

It just had to be. 

 

oOo 

 

Knowing that Ellis was going to wait for him at six in front of the restaurant where they had decided to meet, John was happy and full of expectations the entire 

next day.

He felt it was not only going to be a great date, but also the end of these stupid, useless and distracting Sherlock-thoughts.

At quarter to six, his phone buzzed.

Lestrade has a case  
please come immediately  
I need you here  
SH

"...I need you here..." John cursed the detective, cursed himself and tipped a quick message to Ellis at the same time.

Sorry, can´t make it tonight.  
How about tomorrow?  
John

He knew how that sounded, like he´d found something better to do, something more interesting, and he´d perfectly understand Ellis if she just ignored his text 

and he´d never hear anything from her ever again, but he could´t help it. He wasn't going to let his friend end up hurt and alone somewhere.

John felt it to be his private little task to watch out for the detective. No one else was going to, this much was obvious, Sherlock himself at the very least.

 

oOo

 

They were walking home side by side, still slightly out of breath.

"Did you see the look on Anderson´s face?", Sherlock asked, smiling in such a typical Sherlock-way that John smiled back way wider than he had intended to.

"I did," he responded quickly, holding his gaze down again.

"It was the most fun I had this week, except for chasing the killer through half London afterwards, maybe," Sherlock added thoughtfully. "Thanks for being there, 

by the way. Didn't you have a date?" He knew perfectly well John had had a date. He had tried to delete this stuff, as it wasn't very useful and just blocked 

important space in his brain he could have used otherwise for information connected to the latest murder cases, but it was no use. 

John was very surprised. 

"Why, yes, but, it...didn't fit in for her anyway." 

He was lying. Sherlock could hear that, always, and right now, it almost made him purr like a happy cat.

Not that he would ever have done something this undignified in public, but still.

 

oOo

 

"Thanks for coming this time", John said with a little, embarrassed smile and took his place opposite of Ellis. 

She actually decided to give me a second chance ,he thought.

That meant something, he was sure. It just had to.

"Well, you were just too bloody cute, weren't you," Ellis answered. Her smile was not at all embarrassed and just the right tick mischievous.

John was very relieved that she wasn't angry or upset because of the last day. Also, he still had a little hope left that she might be the one to turn his thought´s 

off Sherlock, for a change. He wouldn't be able to ignore all this any longer, honestly.

Over dinner he decided that not only she was funny, but also smart and educated. She just seemed perfect. They talked for a long time, finding each other to be 

interested in a lot of the same things, and after they left the restaurant, John insisted on walking Ellis home.

After a while of just going side by side, John took her hand. It was warm, very smooth and surprisingly small, even for a woman´s.

To his great relief, she didn't pull away but briefly tightened her fingers and leaned her head against his shoulder. 

"Here´s where I live.'' Her voice made John look up in surprise.

"Oh, yes, well, uhm, goodbye then...?" he said, almost making it sound like a question. 

As a response, Ellis leaned very closely to his ear.

"I wouldn't say goodbye right away," she muttered and then carefully kissed him directly on the mouth.

Her lips were soft and tasted like strawberry, lying warm on John´s own, however it didn't fell pleasant, it just felt plain wrong, so wrong it made John gasp.

She was leaning out again and asked him something, but all John heard was an indefinable rushing and all he could see was Sherlock´s face, as if he was 

standing right in front of him.

"I'm so sorry", John tried to breathe normally again. Calm yourself! he thought angrily.

"What´s wrong?" Ellis whispered, her fingertips resting on John´s cheek. 

"I just...I can´t. I'm sorry," the doctor repeated.

"Thinking about your ex girlfriend, are you?" Suddenly, Ellis voice was hard.

"No!" It was a desperate sound, almost like a cry. "Not at all." 

"Well, still you don´t seem too interested in me!" Red spots were appearing on her cheeks now. It all went so horribly wrong. 

"You don´t understand..." Pathetic. He knew that.

"I thought you were looking at me with those cute puppy eyes of yours in this dreamy way!" John was shocked to hear that she was almost crying now.

"But you were thinking about somebody else the entire time, weren't you? And I thought you were...different!" 

Her eyes were full of tears. She looked at John, but as he didn't react, she got her keys out with trembling fingers, unlocked the door and went inside.

The sound of the door closing brought John back. He couldn't suppress a bitter little laugh. Different. Yes, he was indeed different. Not in a way Ellis or even 

himself would ever have thought he could be, though.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Third chapter, there you go. I'm not entirely happy with this chapter, so any helpful comments would be very welcome. Special thanks to SherlocksScarf, without whom every chapter would sound as awkward as these notes :)  
> I really hope I got the hang of this format-thingy now.   
> Sherlock still doesn't belong to me, but Mycroft might soon - he loves my cake.  
> Thanks to everyone who left Kudos!

Chapter Three

  
  


The next few days were torture for John. Every time he saw Sherlock he just wanted to touch him, stroke his cheek, ruffle his soft, dark curls, draw the perfect line of his cupid´s bow with one finger.

Every time Sherlock looked at him, John just wanted to smile, and sometimes he even blushed.

Thank God Sherlock wasn't observant when it came to feelings. Where every normal person would have noticed that something was strange, he just didn't. The most observant man in the world was almost ridiculously blind regarding love. John was careful not to touch him, even by accident, because he wasn't sure if he would be able to hide his affection then.

He wasn't used to these strong feelings, as the last time he had been crazy about someone like this he had been a teenager. He had totally forgotten how annoying it was, not being able to think straight, being up singing at one moment and down the next one. Also, he couldn't sleep very well.

He lay wide awake for hours, thinking about Sherlock´s face, his voice, his smile...He didn't eat much, either, he´d just forget about it, and usually didn't feel like it, anyway.

"John, are you listening to me?" Sherlock's voice almost made him jump. He had been all into the imagination of brushing an eyelash away that was sitting a little above the perfect cheekbone of his flatmate. 

"Bad enough you´re often not even there when I'm talking to you; you could at least pay attention when you´re right in front of me!" 

John rubbed his eyes. He was tired, although the day had barely started. He quickly glanced at his watch. 8 a.m. He sighed. 

"Excuse me...you were saying?" 

"I got a call. Anonymous. Sounds interesting. I could hear where the man stood who held the phone, I'm pretty sure it was Piccadilly Circus...all those pigeons are making such noise...are you coming?" 

As usual, Sherlock had been talking very fast and now he smiled at John, somewhat impatiently but with his special  _Sherlock-_ smile and John felt the corners of his mouth pull into a most idiotic grin. Hastily, he looked away. 

"No, I, er, I have to work. So much to do at the hospital today..." 

He lifted himself up from his chair while he was speaking, turning around, packing stuff together, hoping Sherlock wouldn't see his shaking hands. God, he looked like an alcoholic who had been sober for only a few days. 

"The hospital can wait!" Sherlock answered. "This is something John, I can feel it, no more boredom for some time! It´ll be good for you. You´re looking awful lately, haven´t you noticed?" 

John´s breath caught. So, Sherlock  _had_ become aware of the doctor's sleepless nights. Abruptly he turned back. 

"I don´t care Sherlock, really...I – I just have a lot of work to do, OK?" 

"No, it´s not OK! It´s stupid and useless and boring! In fact  _you_ are stupid and useless and boring!", Sherlock answered furiously. 

He stormed out of the flat, not without slamming the door so hard that the skull dropped to the floor. For a moment, John was just standing there, not capable of doing anything. After a while, he took his things and went off to the hospital.

Sarah looked at him in surprise as he walked in. 

"John? What are you doing here? I told you to stay home and get some rest, didn't I? Wow, you´re looking awful. Didn't anybody tell you?" 

"Why, thank you. About one and a half hours ago, Sherlock told me the same thing...listen, do you, uhm , have some time for me, maybe? I need someone to – to talk about something and I figured you´d maybe know..." his voice trailed off. Sarah was looking quite worried now. 

"Sure. Give me, say ten minutes?" 

John waited on the chair in front of her desk until she was done with her paper work.

"So, what´s wrong, Doctor?" she asked, a little teasing. 

"It´s, well, I think...I'm in love. Not with you!" he added quickly, when he saw the expression on her face. "Not at all. I..I think I'm in love with Sherlock...Holmes. You remember him, right?" 

"Of course. The one who ruined our date. You complain about him all the time. Wait a minute! Haven´t you denied all the time that something was going on between you two?" 

"I did, yes, but only because I didn't notice...or I didn't want to notice...how much he actually means to me. Please, you have to tell me what to do, you have to. It certainly can't go on like this!" 

She smiled at him in such a sympathetic way, it made him feel uncomfortable. 

"John," she said after a long pause, "I have to think about this...I'm not a genius regarding feelings, either...I´ll call you, say, tomorrow, all right? Is there anything apart from that I can do for you?" 

"Could you...just give me some work, will you? I can´t stand thinking about this right now."

  
  


oOo

  
  


**Come to the hospital**

**It´s important**

**I don´t think you´ll remember me,**

**but do it for John.**

  
  


There was no name below the message. Sherlock sighed. The case hadn't been a real case, just some stupid kid´s joke or something. If John hadn't put up his blog, no one would have done something like that. On the other hand, Sherlock would probably not have as many good cases as he did, either. Well, he was bored and annoyed, and why shouldn't he go to the hospital? After all, it was only two streets away. 

When Sherlock entered, a blonde woman approached him. Her face rang a bell. 

"Sarah, wasn't it?" 

"Yes," she said, obviously surprised about the fact that he knew her. "John said you didn't remember names too well. Oh, never mind. How about you come in, my office is right here." She let him go ahead, followed inside and closed the door behind them. 

"Please, sit down." 

"No, thank you. What do you want? I thought there was something with John." 

"There is something with John. And it´s also about you. I just sent him home so we could talk for a while."

"Talking to ordinary people is boring," Sherlock replied, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I see, this is gonna be harder than I thought. Look, John has a, well, quite a severe problem."

"You said you sent him home! How could you have sent him home? Is he sick, is he hurt? Talk to me!" 

"Oh, now you´re asking for it don´t you?" she smiled, but stopped almost immediately.

"How do you feel about John?" she suddenly queried. 

"He´s my colleague. And my friend. Only real friend, I´d say. Why? Tell me what´s wrong already!" 

Instead of responding to his question, she posed another one of her own, "Have you ever felt...more than friendship for John?"

"Pardon?" 

"Well the reason you´re here talking to me is that John is desperately in love with you."

"Wrong." 

"Excuse me?" 

"I said 'wrong' . I'm here talking to you because I chose to come after you texted me – and John...is not gay, right?!" 

"Sorry, but I'm afraid he is. At least partly. May I take from your response, however, that you´re not seeing him in any romantic way whatsoever?" 

Sherlock looked confused. 

"I never thought about this. Feelings, sentiment...." his voice sounded scornful, "it´s not very helpful, is it? How would I know if I was in love with John?"

"I could just ask you a few more questions, and maybe we´ll find out." She seemed more and more amused. 

"Fine. Go ahead." 

"Are you constantly thinking about John?"

"Yes. That´s nothing abnormal. I spend most of my time with him." 

"Right. Are you jealous when he goes on a date?" 

"Yes. That might have its reason, however, in the fact that I'm quite self-centered, as people like to point out." 

"Do you feel attracted to him? Do you want to touch him for no reason sometimes?" 

"I don´t know. I do want to touch him sometimes, but that´s usually when I don´t understand his behaviour, and would like to find out why he´s behaving like that. Touching stuff helps me deduce it, although it´s surely not my favourite sense." 

"Hm...give me your hand." 

When he wasn't doing what she had asked for, Sarah just took his wrist and placed two fingers on it. Ignoring his protest she told him, "Say something about John. Anything. What you like about him, what you hate about him, whatever." 

"All right". He cleared his throat. "John is my best friend. Sometimes he is just boring and stupid and annoying, but I guess that´s not his fault, he´s like most people in that way. Unlike most people he´s loyal and ...kind and he never, ever leaves my side, even if I'm being an 'annoying prat' or however he likes to phrase it." He looked up. " Was that enough?" 

Sarah smiled at him. 

"Yes, I´d say so. In John´s blog I read that you stated that an elevated pulse rate and dilated pupils are good evidence when you want to get clarity about someone´s feelings. I must say, I agree with you in that point. So, referring to this, I consider our case to be solved. You´re in love with John Watson."

  
  


 

 


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm much happier with this chapter :)   
> Sherlock still doesn't belong to me and Mycroft got sick from all the cake I sent him...  
> Thanks to SherlocksScarf, to whom this chapter is dedicated, and to everyone who left Kudos.  
> Comments would be greatly appreciated!

Chapter Four

When John entered the flat, it was dark and empty. He had been examining patients and doing paper work all day, just so he wouldn't have to  _think_ . He had counted on Sarah´s help. He still did, but as she hadn't been able to give him any advice yet, he had just needed some distraction.

Around six Sarah had made a phone call and then sent him home, telling him that he had done enough and really needed to rest now. As he had known she was right, he hadn't contradicted her, but just taken the next tube home. Now he was tired, although it was only seven thirty.

He sighed, then decided to read a bit and went for the stairs. Passing the wardrobe, he saw one of Sherlock´s blue scarves hang there. (Sherlock had at least three or four, because he always wore one when he was going outside and always forgot to pick them up from the dry cleaner).

Without thinking about it, John took it and slowly lifted it up to his nose. It smelled like Sherlock in a way that made John´s knees feel like a pile of wet towels. He inhaled deeply, then he went upstairs, the scarf still in his hands.

He actually managed to read for some time, absently lifting the scarf to his nose every now and then, but when he heard Sherlock come home around nine, he quickly stuffed it underneath his pillow. Glad for a reason not to see Sherlock any more today, he went to bed not much later.

Maybe it was the scarf, he couldn't tell, but even though John had never had any dream about Sherlock, awake or not, that went further than a shy kiss, tonight, he did.

It was dark in his dream, but he felt the detective´s hands and lips on his body. Everywhere. He heard his soft moan," Fuck me, John."

He woke with a shock, all sweaty and breathing hard, panting like he had been running for miles. When he saw what had happened, John felt embarrassed.

It was not like he had never had a dream like that before, but thinking like this about Sherlock made him feel guilty, as if he was taking advantage of the other man without him knowing it. It was rather silly, really, but Sherlock always seemed so...innocent.

Slightly shaking, he left his bed and went to the bathroom. When the cool water came down on him, he finally started to calm himself.

He controlled his breathing and took a look at his watch that was lying on the shelf next to the shower. It was almost 5 a.m. Well, then he could as well get up. He started to wash his hair, taking a lot more shampoo than necessary, closed his eyes and just tried to concentrate on the smell.

Suddenly, the door was opened with a bang and there was Sherlock, only in his pyjamas and his dressing gown. "What are you doing, John?" He was obviously bewildered by someone who´d get up this early. Going to bed late, or not at all, yes, but why would anyone want to leave bed again only short after getting in? 

John had never been more thankful to the fact that he had put up a shower curtain after moving into 221B.

"Showering", he answered grumpily after it was clear that Sherlock wouldn't leave without having got a response.

"Are you sick?", he asked, and his voice sounded so worried and concerned that John couldn't suppress a quick smile. 

He closed his eyes. "Just a dream", he muttered. "Go back to bed, Sherlock."

He waited until Sherlock had closed left the bathroom and closed the door behind him, then he sank back against the cold wall and buried his face in his hands.

  
  


oOo

  
  


It was dark in the living room. Sherlock sat in his favourite armchair, which was turned to the window. He didn't react when John entered the room. John didn't even seem to notice him. 

The doctor was fully dressed, but his hair was still wet. Both of them didn't move for quite awhile, Sherlock silently waiting, John, obviously sure to be alone, eyes closed, hands at his sides, clenched into fists. Eventually, Sherlock couldn't stand it any longer. "What was your dream about?" 

John gave a surprised sound and turned around as far as possible. 

"What are you...why aren't you in bed?" he asked confused. 

"Why aren't you?", Sherlock asked back. 

"As I said, I, er, I dreamt, uhm, something and I couldn't go back to sleep any more." 

"Neither could I", Sherlock replied. He turned his chair around, hands on the armrests, eyes fixed on John´s face. 

"After I was woken by you, I couldn't stop thinking about the things Sarah told me yesterday." For a few seconds, John just looked at him bewildered, but then, very slowly, his expression changed to total horror. He got up, stumbling a few steps back. 

"No", he whispered, "No, she didn't, she couldn't possibly have told you...No!" Sherlock didn't take his eyes off his flatmate. 

"She was right then, I suppose. You really are in love with me." John´s face was very pale now, he looked he might get sick any moment. He cleared his throat, obviously trying to pull himself together. 

"I – I guess I am. I'm sorry, Sherlock."

"You could have just told me, you know. Would have made things easier, don´t you think?" The detective didn't dare to smile yet. John just looked back blankly, then he seemed to understand. Sherlock asked himself what was going to happen. Would they kiss? He felt he wanted it, but he was more than just a little bit excited, too. John was so much more experienced than himself, after all. Surely he would expect something better? John, however, didn't make so much as a step to approach Sherlock. 

"I...I see. I could have thought of that." Sherlock was confused. It didn't help that he could still smell John´s freshly washed hair. How very distracting. 

"Well, I´ll pack my stuff then," John continued. The detective didn't understand anything any more. "What? No!"

John looked hurt now, and angry, too. 

"Oh, if you can´t stand being in the same room like the gay idiot I obviously am to you, I can just leave right now!" he almost yelled. "I can understand that you don´t need another Molly around you all the time. I just thought we could stay friends." 

Sherlock opened his mouth, trying to say something, anything. What was happening? But John just went on, 

"However, I see this thought appears disgusting to you. So I´ll just leave right now. I can get my stuff while you´re working. Goodbye." With tears in his eyes he turned around, opened the door and was gone.

  
  


oOo

  
  


He couldn't believe it. He didn't want to believe it. John felt tears running down his face while he walked, not paying attention to the way he was taking. The sun had not yet risen and the streets were still dark and almost empty. Impatiently, he wiped his eyes, but it was no use. The tears just came out anyway. 

He would never have thought that Sherlock might react this way. Well, he hadn't really thought about any possible reaction at all. He knew only too well that Sherlock had never seemed interested in anyone, except for Irene Adler, maybe, but she was gone and as far as he knew, they hadn't even kissed. Still, he would have thought that Sherlock might be a bit more supportive, that he wouldn't mind so much, that he would let them stay friends after all they had gone through together. 

John inhaled deeply. He should go back. He should talk to Sherlock, remind him of how much they needed each other, of how they´d always been able to think of a solution. Surely they would find a way to sort this out, to cope with this? 

He turned around, fairly unsure of where exactly he was at the moment. He saw a man standing leaned against the wall of an old building. John crossed the street and went towards him and opened his mouth to ask for the name of the street, but the man was faster. 

"Are you Dr. John Watson?" he asked in a hoarse voice. John was utterly surprised. 

"Well, yes, I am," he answered. "Could you maybe tell me..." He couldn't finish his sentence, because the man spoke again, 

"Please, get into this car." 

John rolled his eyes. 

"No thank you. Tell Mycroft I'm really not in the mood to play his stupid little games now!" 

"Get into the car," the man repeated. "We don´t want to hurt you, Dr. Watson,” he added, with something that probably could only be described as a smirk. 

"Fine," John muttered. He was not willing to argue about Mycroft´s way of telling John that he wanted something. He entered the back of the car. Something was wrong. He couldn't put his finger on it, but in the same second that thought crossed his mind he felt a sting and a burn in his left arm and then, everything was dark. 

  
  


 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

  
  


Chapter Five

  
  


Sherlock was furious. He didn't understand anything any more, he was confused and tired and he still couldn't stop thinking about what had happened between him and John. What the bloody hell had gone wrong? Had he said _anything_ that could make one want to scream at him and run away? Even though that was probably what most people would like to do when he talked to them, this time, he hadn't been rude or showing-off at all...and it had been John, for God's sake! John _never_ reacted like that. 

"Stupid sentiment", Sherlock muttered to himself. "Stupid, useless feelings." He sank back into his chair. However angry he was, it was nothing compared to the empty hole that he could feel in his chest. He had never noticed that there was something there, until now that it was gone, leaving him feeling cold and terribly alone.

  
  


oOo

  
  


" Well, hello, Dr Watson! What a pleasure to finally meet you in person! Oh no, don't try to get up. The sedative was a little too strong, I believe." 

John's head felt like someone with a gigantic hammer was having an awfully busy day inside it.

He tried to speak but could only manage to get out a moan. Also, his vision spun around, so he had to close his eyes again.

When he opened them after a while, he could see a very tall woman in front of him. She wasn't exactly unattractive, but her face had such a hard, cold look that no one would ever have called her pretty. In spite of what she had said, he tried to lift himself up, but failed and sank back to the floor. It was cold and a little damp, made of concrete, and didn't look like it had recently been cleaned.

" Where...where am I?" A stupid question, considering the circumstances. The woman seemed to think the same. 

" It's not on you to ask questions, Doctor," she said. John noticed her accent that made even her words sound hard. German, perhaps, he decided. 

" It's not on you to do anything at the moment," she continued and he was sure now: German accent. 

"So, why exactly did you kidnap me?" John asked, being able to use his tongue better with every word. "I don't have a family with money, or something like that." 

" Oh, but it's not money that we want from you. And we do want something from you. But as I said, at the moment, all we need is you – here in this nice, cosy room, staying with us for a while." Her smile was one of the creepiest things John had ever seen in his life. It seemed barely human.

  
  


oOo

  
  


It had been three days now. Sherlock hadn't eaten and hardly slept all the time. He hadn't talked to anyone, either, not even to Lestrade, although the inspector had tried to call him several times.

Sherlock didn't want to take any case right now, as unusual as that was. In fact, he didn't want to do anything, which was even more unusual. He simply lay on the sofa all day, only in pyjamas and dressing gown, staring at the ceiling, waiting. However, nothing happened. No John entered the flat, no Sarah called to tell him that John was at her place. Sherlock did know it was no use, that nothing would happen, but for the first time in his life, his brain wasn't in charge of his actions. So he just lay around, concentrating on the pounding ache in his temples, and trying not to scream out loud. Every time he fell asleep for a few hours, he saw John's pale face, the tears in his eyes, heard him say "Goodbye". It was almost worse than being awake.

  
  


oOo

  
  


" Hello again, Dr Watson." As he heard the cold voice, he looked up. His face was swollen and a little blood ran from a cut on his forehead. 

"I see that my team did not listen to my orders," the woman said. "Usually we have people here who...require this kind of treatment. However, we need you healthy and...presentable." 

" What for?" John demanded. 

"Well, I might as well tell you, right? We want Sherlock Holmes. We have need of his special skills." 

" And I am the best way to get him? Sherlock will never do anything for anyone but himself." 

" I'm afraid that's incorrect, Doctor. We have been observing you and Mr Holmes for a time now, and as far as I can see, there's not much he wouldn't do for you. He will at first not do what we want him to do, but when Mr Holmes witnesses how we, say, cut of your fingers, one by one, phalanx by phalanx, I think he'll change his mind." There was her smile again. John tried very hard not to shiver. 

" What do you need Sherlock for?" 

" Didn't you get it yet, Doctor? My, you're one of the slow ones, aren't you? We're  _terrorists_ . Have you ever heard of the RAF?" He gaped at her, and she gave an impatient huff. 

"I don't mean the Royal Air Force, I'm speaking of the Rote Armee Fraktion*. If you haven't heard of them, never mind. We can't operate against the system in our home country, but we have people hiding all over the world. This is our main cell. Lately, we haven't had any success with what we've been...doing, so we need someone who's brilliant and who will do what we say, and do so exactly. You see why we couldn't just hire someone like Moriarty. He'd have sold us to the government or something like that." 

" You still need Sherlock to get here though, don't you?" John was slightly confused. 

" Well, we made a call to get you both, but for some reason, your colleague came to Piccadilly Circus alone...after that, we didn't see you two together any more, and when you were walking outside in the early morning hours, and you were alone...such an opportunity! You see, if we had kidnapped Sherlock and tried to get you afterwards, you'd probably have called the police. Now this way around, it's easier. Because famous Sherlock Holmes won't take help. You understand, we don't have to go and get Sherlock any more. In fact, this way is nicer, too. He'll be out of his mind because he's so worried about you and then, we'll make our call...he'll be here pretty quickly, don't you think? And there'll be no one who knows where he is or who will even ask that question." 

John tried not to show his desperation, but he knew the woman was right. Sherlock wouldn't ask for help. The last open question was if he was going to search for John at all.

 

 

 

 

* The Rote Armee Fraktion (RAF) was a German Communist terrorist cell that kidnapped people and threatened the government. Although they officially dissolved in 1998, there are still rumors about a so-called fourth generation that operates secretely. For more information, read this article:

<http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Red_Army_Faction#The_RAF_since_the_1980s>


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry for taking so long with the updates. Next one will be quicker, I promise.  
> Thanks and cookies to Sherlock'sScarf for betaing. You're the best!  
> Also thanks to everyone who left Kudos. Sherlock still doesn't belong to me.  
> Comments would be super wonderful, thanks :)

 

OoOoOoO 

Chapter Six

  
  


" Sherlock, dear, I made you some tea...and I brought you some of my self-made eclairs, those I never, ever give to you boys because they're just too much work. Please, eat one. It's not healthy how you're living at the moment." 

"Go away, Mrs. Hudson." 

Sherlock didn't even look at her. She sighed, then put the tray onto the coffee table and herself into the armchair that stood closest to the sofa Sherlock was lying on. 

"It can't go on like this, now can it? You're always so full of energy when it comes to dreadful dead things and now your best friend is missing, and you don't do anything." 

Sherlock still refused to turn around. 

"So?!" 

"Sherlock Holmes, you listen to me! Friends and family are all we have in the end, and you've obviously already given up on the latter, and I can understand you there, but I will not let you starve on this sofa in self-sympathy while John might be out there somewhere, hurt or what do I know!" 

"I don't think John wants to see me," Sherlock said stubbornly. 

"Don't you think I overheard you two fight? The man's in love with you, so what?! It's a miracle anyone would stay at your side long enough to fall in love with you! Now eat something, take a shower, and off you go!" 

To his own surprise, Sherlock lifted himself up, took one of the eclairs and ate it on his way to the bathroom. Mrs. Hudson smiled. These boys simply belonged together, and she would do a lot more than bake eclairs to make them see that.

  
  


When Sherlock left the bathroom, Mrs. Hudson was gone. However, she hadn't taken the eclairs with her. Thank God. He ate another one while trying to think of a plan. He decided to at first do the most obvious things. He dialled Sarah's number. She answered after the second ring. 

" Yes?"

" Uhm, hello, it's Sherlock."

" Oh, Sherlock! Wow, what is it? Want to thank me for my great advice? Tell me, how is it going between you two?"

The question was posed with an almost audible smirk.

" Er, not really well. Actually, not at all. John misunderstood me when I told him that you and I had a...talk. He left. May I take from your question, however, that he's currently not staying at your place?"

" What? Oh, no, sorry Sherlock. I haven't seen him since we talked about...well, if he's still feeling the way he was then, he'll be back in no time...however, good luck searching him."

She hung up.  _Shit_ . Sherlock had been sure she would have called him if John had shown up at her place, but still he was disappointed. Her taking it so calmly also made him slightly angry. What did she know about John, after all?  _A lot more than you do, apparently_ , a small voice in his head said.

" Fine!" Sherlock said into the empty flat, knowing he was behaving like a child, but momentarily not able to help it. Why, anyway? "Do you have any better idea, if you're so clever?"

The voice remained silent. 

"Didn't think so, either," Sherlock mumbled. But where would John have gone to? His sister's? Sherlock decided to call Lestrade first and ask him. He had the feeling that John would rather sleep on the DI's sofa than on Harry's. But neither Lestrade nor Harry were aware that John had left Baker Street.

  
  


oOo

  
  


"Ihr müsst vorsichtiger sein! Ihr hättet sie auf unsere Spur führen können, wir könnten längst alle im Gefängnis sitzen! Wenn das noch einmal passiert..." The woman stopped talking when she saw that John was awake. He tried to remember the bits of German he had learned from other soldiers in Afghanistan. He had definitely heard that something had gone wrong. He was fairly certain that she had said something like "they could've caught us." 

The woman looked at him, obviously calculating how much he might have understood. She seemed to decide that it couldn't have been too much, because she smiled her smile again. 

"Well, Dr Watson, we wanted to call your colleague today, but some people screwed it up...which only means that you're going to sit here for a few more days. Now, I bet you're quite bored, aren't you? It can't be too comfortable, either...what do you think can we do about that?" It sounded very much like a threat. 

John tried to stay calm. "I'm fine here, thanks, really." Oops. Very convincing. _Think first, John! ,_ he told himself angrily. 

The woman smiled her smile. He could barely suppress a shudder, still not used to it, although she did it every time he saw her. 

"No, I think you need something to do, some distraction. If you'd follow me, please – oh, how impolite of me, you can't. Very well...Karl, Hans, kommt her und tragt ihn!" 

" What did you..."  _tell them_ , John wanted to ask, but didn't, as the two freakishly strong men who had to be Karl and Hans picked him up, answering his unasked question, and carried him after the woman, a few stairs up into a bright, white room. A camera was set up in one corner.

The men put John onto a chair without loosening his ties.

" What do you want me to do?" John asked.

" Oh, not much, Dr Watson, not much. Just tell Sherlock to come here and join you..."

" I think you already know my answer," John said through gritted teeth, eyes closed as not to look at her. 

" I must warn you, we'll just run the camera and whatever...happens to you will be taped and sent to your colleague. You might want to cooperate, it'd spare you both a great deal of pain."

" He won't come anyway," John said, still refusing to look at her, tears burning in his eyes.

" Why should I believe you?" The woman glanced at him. Then she turned around. "Fangt an!" she simply said.  _Begin_ .

  
  


oOo

A knock at the door made Sherlock jump. Maps of London, tube timetables and lists of hotels fell to the ground. He didn't really need these things, however they helped him to keep concentrated on his problem, and they gave him the feeling of doing  _something_ . Instead of a second knock, a huge black man opened the door. 

" Mr Holmes? We have to ask you to accompany us."

" I know, I've seen you before," Sherlock growled. "Why can't you simply tell my brother that I do not have the time to talk to him right now?"

He knew it was no use, but however miserable and worried he was, he'd rather kiss Anderson than obey the commands of his brother without at least a little rebellious act.

The man obviously wanted to roll his eyes at the detective, but of course he was in far too an official position to do that. Sherlock smirked despite himself.

" Mr Holmes, please come with us. There's a car waiting downstairs." The man repeated.

With a sigh, Sherlock lifted himself up and walked downstairs without even looking at this bodyguard-or-whatever-he-was of his brother.

  
  


When he arrived at Mycroft's club he waited impatiently for his brother, walking up and down the room.

When the older man finally entered, Sherlock snapped at him before he could say a word.

“What's it this time, Mycroft? What's wrong now? I really don't have the time to chase down another naked woman with compromising photographs right now! John is - "

''- missing'' Mycroft finished the sentence. ''I'm aware of that, brother dear. It is, actually, the reason I brought you here. If you would rather leave though..."

"No," Sherlock said immediately. His eyes narrowed. "Did _you_ kidnap John?"

Mycroft allowed himself a short, dry laugh, that didn't sound very amused.

" We would hardly have a reason for that now, would we." He smiled. "What I wanted to tell you and what I indeed will tell you, if you be so kind as to let me finish, is that we have been spying on German terrorists for a while now. Their...activities haven't been too distinct, so we just observed them, but as they have taken on kidnapping, we had to do something."

" Where are they? Did they hurt John?" Sherlock sounded a lot more urgent than he had intended to, but he didn't care.

" They haven't injured him severely, I would say," Mycroft answered. "I will tell you where they momentarily are, but I must warn you: We have to act as soon as possible. Their people are everywhere, and when they hear that we know everything of importance about them, they will, well, do what terrorists do in such a situation."

" And what would that be?"

" Kill their hostage."


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a bit uncertain about this chapter...I hope Sherlock isn't too OOC. Let me know !  
> Thanks to Sherlock'sScarf for being amazing and to everyone who left Kudos.  
> Comments would be brilliant!

Chapter Seven

  
  


"Ouch," John mumbled. His lip was bleeding. In fact, so was his eyebrow, the cut on his cheek and the slash on his arm. The latter was looking quite bad, but he had taken worse. 

He looked into the camera. 

"Sherlock – don't – come – here."

He coughed. One of the giants behind him grunted and lifted his hand again. John ducked his head in anticipation, eyes never leaving the camera.

  
  


oOo

Never in his life had Sherlock been running like this. He saw John's face in front of him the entire time. He didn't feel the burn in his lungs, he didn't notice when his leg crashed against a bin, he just jumped over it and hurried down the street. He didn't get a cab until he had been running for at least two miles. He got into it, panting, told the driver the address and sat down at the very edge of the back seat as if he all he wanted was to run again. His fingers dug into the seat.

When the cabbie wanted to stop for a red traffic light, he almost got a heart attack because Sherlock screamed "GO!" directly into his ear. The detective felt like he had to tear something to keep himself from bursting. _What if they didn't make it in time?_ The thought alone almost seemed enough to make him go insane.

  
  


oOo

  
  


"Stop!" 

Although the pronunciation was quite strange, John got the meaning of the word right away. The giants suddenly left him alone. The woman was standing in the door frame, her hard face pale as chalk. 

"People know about us," she said, looking at John. "They informed your colleague or friend or whatever he is. He is on his way, but as the British government seems to be perfectly well informed about our plans, we do not need him any more. We'll kill him as soon as he gets here.

“You won't have to watch him die, anyhow", she added with her smile, the gritted teeth making her look like an animal. "We'll kill you first. It's nothing personal, but you're no use to us any more, and the risk of you escaping is just too high." Her smile grew wider; she looked truly insane now. 

"Karl," she said, directing at one of the giants, "gib mir deine Waffe." It was pretty clear she had demanded his gun.

  
  


oOo

  
  


The cab stopped with squealing wheels in front of the building.

Sherlock jumped out, throwing some money at the shaking cabbie and, not bothering with the lock, simply broke the door with his shoulder. He found himself inside an ancient stairwell. There were voices audible from above his head. He sprinted upstairs, already drawing the gun Mycroft had provided him with.

He stormed into the room in the same moment that the woman pulled the trigger.

  
  


It all seemed to happen in slow motion. Sherlock shot her from behind before anyone even noticed his sudden appearance. Before she hit the ground, he had already taken down one of the huge men that had probably been supposed to man the door.

The second guard didn't have any weapons except for his fists, but unlike the other two he wasn't taken by surprise, so he ducked beneath the shot Sherlock had fired and tried to knock him out. Sherlock made a quick step aside, rammed his fist in the other man's stomach and let a bullet follow his blow immediately. The man groaned once, then lay still. 

Sherlock stepped over the body towards his friend. 

"John," he whispered hoarsely, "can you hear me? Are you all right?"

He fell to his knees in front of him. John opened his eyes. 

"Sherlock," he mumbled. The sound made the detective shiver and without having it planned - hell, without even thinking about it - he pressed his mouth to John's. 

It felt like a shock. His whole body seemed to be electrified and his lips tingled. And John kissed him back. After a few hot, breathless seconds, Sherlock pulled away, gasping for air. He looked at John. 

"After all what happened...I thought you hated me," he stuttered. 

John looked him deeply in the eyes. 

"I adore you," he answered, simply. They kissed again, not as impatient, but when Sherlock opened his mouth and dragged the doctor closer, the smaller man winced in pain.

The detective let go of him at once, looking at him in worry. 

"Are you hurt?"

John almost succeeded in laughing.

"Haven't you noticed? Never mind, it's nothing, she didn't hit me really." 

Sherlock carefully pulled up John's shirt and sucked in a shocked breath. The bullet had only grazed his side, but it had left a messy wound.

"Just sit here. Help is on the way. Try not to move!" he ordered. He hesitated for a second, then he pulled the shorter man towards him so his head rested against the detective's chest. He wrapped one arm around his friend. 

"Just stay like this and I'll be all right in no time," John murmured and smiled weakly when Sherlock shyly started to stroke his hair.

  
  


That was how Mycroft's people found them.

John was even paler now and Sherlock looked very worried again, a more than unusual expression on his face.

A private ambulance brought them to an even more private hospital, seemingly the place where the members of Mycroft's top-secret department were brought for medical treatment when wounded in action.

Sherlock refused to be put into a bed and let a doctor examine him. In fact, he completely refused to leave John's side and he only very reluctantly let go of his hand when the wound had to be stitched. John had lost a lot of blood, so they decided to keep him for a few days.

Sherlock was more confused than he had ever been in his whole life. Those last weeks had just been overwhelming, all the unknown experiences with feelings and actually caring for someone else...and now he was sitting here,  _holding someone's hand._

Not just someone. _John._ His best friend. The only one he had ever opened up to at least a little bit. How vulnerable he was making himself. But looking at John's sleeping face, feeling his warm fingers in his own, Sherlock couldn't bring himself to mind. He just didn't want to be alone any more. 

His affection, his admiration, his trust, all his feelings for the man in front of him seemed to rush into him like a warm wave. Carefully, he bowed over John and placed a kiss on his forehead.

  
  


oOo

  
  


Birds twittered. The air coming through the open windows smelled like spring.

It was one of London's rather scarce, sunny days. John Watson opened his eyes slowly and blinked when he looked into the bright light. Where was he? Why was he feeling so safe, warm and confident ?  _What_ had happened? He tried to remember, but it was all such a blur, his brain didn't seem to work correctly yet and the warm feeling was nice and comforting. So was the soft, clean bed he was lying in. A hospital bed. 

All of a sudden, John was quite awake. It all rushed back to him. The kidnapping. The woman with the smile. The giants, beating him up. The gun being fired.

Sherlock _._ Coming to rescue him. _Kissing him._ Or had that part just been a dream? Perhaps. Probably. Sherlock would never kiss him. He didn't feel that way for John. He sighed. What a nice dream however. 

His head hurt a little. He tried to reach for a glass of water and noticed that his hand was being held by something. Someone. _Sherlock._ The smile spreading on John's face would usually have to be called idiotic, but together with the sparkle in his eyes he just looked like the happiest man alive.

He wrapped his hand tighter around his friend's, who woke with a little sound of surprise.

  
  


oOo

  
  


The first thing Sherlock saw when he woke from the very uncomfortable experience of sleeping in a chair was John beaming at him. Trying to sit up straight he smiled back, a little carefully.

"How, uhm, how are you feeling?"

"Head's a little dizzy, but I guess that'll fade. Apart from that...great? How long have you been sitting here?"

"Actually only for about half an hour. I spent most of the last days and nights here, but today, Mycroft forced me to go home, shower and put on some clothes that weren't smeared with blood. I didn't sleep at all though, so I was probably just tired."

"You spent _days_ just sitting here, watching me _sleep_? Weren't you, well, _bored_?"

Sherlock blushed a little bit. "No. You talk in your sleep."

John groaned. "Bloody hell. What did I say? I made a fool out of myself, didn't I?"

Sherlock blushed even more, but refused to say anything else. John sank back into his pillows.

"So, when am I getting out of here?"

"You should quite soon, actually. I brought you some clothes. You can shower there," he pointed to a door opposite them, " and I'll bring you straight home. You'll be able to shower yourself, won't you?" he added with a slight touch of panic in his voice. John couldn't suppress another smile.

"Yes, I think I can do that," he reassured his friend. Sherlock seemed quite a bit relieved.

 

 

 

 


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, last chapter :)  
> I hope you all enjoyed it.  
> I can't thank SherlocksScarf often enough for all her help, but I try...Thank you so much, sweetie!  
> Comments would be very lovely indeed  
> Sherlock still doesn't belong to me, but I guess you can figure that for yourselves...

 

 

OoOoOoO

Chapter Eight

 

On their way home, they didn't talk much. John was feeling well again, and the doctors in Mycroft's hospital had told him that the wounds were healing very satisfactorily, so there was no reason to stay.

Anyhow, it had taken them the best part of the day to persuade the therapists who had appeared and who wanted to ''observe Dr Watson for a certain amount of time after all he was put through'' that obsevation really wasn't necessary. In the end, Sherlock had talked to them alone.

John wasn't exactly sure what had been spoken, but he couldn't keep from noticing the smug smile on Sherlock's face, or the fact that one of the therapists had cried when he was done with him.

 

Now it was already early evening and when they stopped in front of 221B, the sun was already starting to sink.

 

They entered the flat in an awkward silence.

After just standing around for quite a bit of time, Sherlock felt the need to say something.

“So, what happens next?”, he asked, finally looking at John. To his astonishment, he smiled at him in a way Sherlock had never, ever seen him smile before.

“That's easy.” John took a few steps until he stood very close to Sherlock. He took his hands, then stroked up his arms, huskily whispering, “I'm just going to do all the things I've been longing to do with you for the past weeks.”

Sherlock's throat tightened and he felt a very odd shudder go through his body. No one had ever said something comparable to him.

He had felt loved, occasionally, mostly by his family when he had been a lot younger, but never had he felt wanted, wanted like this. John had stopped the motion of his hands, now cupping Sherlock's face. “Only if it's alright with you,” he added in an unbearably soft voice, and when Sherlock managed to nod in agreement, he stretched up and kissed him.

 

This kiss was very different from the first one they had shared. It didn't feel desperate and hungry but patient and careful, first lips just brushing over each other, barely touching, then slowly becoming more intense.

It wasn't cold and full of fear but warm and there was no need to cling into it, because every time the lips left, they returned, adding a little bit of pressure.

It didn't taste of blood and need but of safety, of something like mint and tea at the same time, all like John and all very, very wonderful.

For the first time Sherlock gave himself totally away, just concentrating on John's hand in his hair, his parted lips, his tongue exploring his mouth. Mmmhhh... _Oh._ Sherlock opened his eyes, which had obviously closed on their own accord. John opened his, too, after he realized that Sherlock wasn't kissing him back any more.

“What, uhm, what are you doing?” Sherlock asked, a slight touch of insecurity swinging in his words.

John seemed to suppress a smile.

“You really are a virgin, aren't you?” he asked, not moving his hands away from where he had just placed them.

“Obviously,” the detective replied, trying to be all himself but blushing at the same time.

“Do you want me to stop?”

Sherlock considered this for a moment. John's hand _there_ made his whole body feel tense. Not in a bad way, though. Just in a way he absolutely wasn't used to feel around John. An experiment.

“No, don't stop,” he answered, surprised that his own voice sounded deeper than usual, too.

“We can take this slow, there's no rush,” John murmured into his ear, lifting his hand, stroking over Sherlock's belly and chest and stopping at the collar of his shirt.

He opened the first button then placed a kiss to the now exposed skin, not much more than a breath really. He opened a second button and moved his mouth further down. Sherlock felt John's breath quicken to match his own. John opened a third button and when his lips came down for another light kiss, the detective closed his eyes and stroked both his hands through the sandy hair in front of him.

Another button open, another kiss, and Sherlock heard himself making a little noise, something between a moan and a sigh. John had heard it, too, and his kisses became more intense, lasted longer on the pale, soft skin, sucking gently.

 

When the last button had been opened, John pulled the shirt out of the trousers, then, kissing his way up again, stripped it from Sherlock's shoulders.

He took a step back, letting his gaze wander over every little detail admiringly, then closed in again and pressed their lips back together.

Sherlock carefully placed his own hands on the hem of John's jumper, pulling it up, stroking over the skin of John's back with long, slim fingers, quite shyly at first.

He became braver quickly though, and when his hands had gotten to John's bare chest, he started sucking on the man's bottom lip a little. John seemed to like that, so he sucked a little harder, and was rewarded with a groan.

Sherlock started to feel more secure, pulling John's jumper and shirt off completely and concentrating on moving his mouth along John's jaw and to his neck, starting to suck again, and not just a little this time.

He realized he was leaving marks and looked up at John who had his eyes shut.

“How does that feel?” Sherlock asked in an unsteady voice.

“Amazing,” John answered and moved towards the sofa, pushing Sherlock onto it and followed, straddling his lap.

“Amazing,” he repeated, moving his hands down on Sherlock. Further down.

 

oOo

 

 

John didn't want to overwhelm Sherlock, so he just rested his hand on Sherlock's groin, but he needn't have worried.

At the contact, Sherlock closed his eyes, bit his lips and even rocked his hips a little. John smiled and took his hand away. The detective made a protesting noise that turned into a moan when John lay himself fully on top of him, pressing them together from chest to knee.

Bringing his hands up and pushing them into the curly hair, John captured Sherlock's full lips again, deepening their kiss immediately, while taking in all he could: Sherlock's scent, his taste, the feeling of this long, lean body against his own.

It felt so very different from all he was used to, and he half asked himself where he had gotten the courage to actually do this, but it felt so _right_ , and damn if he wasted another thought on this while his mind should be occupied with saving all these precious moments, because what if he'd just wake up in the morning and none of this really happened?

 

Sherlock rocked his hips again, bringing still clothed erections together, and John's thoughts blurred, leaving him with only one word in the centre of his mind. _More._ It seemed quite sufficient.

 

Suddenly, Sherlock – obviously feeling the need of moving things along, flipped them over so that he was resting on top of John, kissing and sucking on his mouth hungrily.

The sofa moved over the floor a few centimetres at this, and gave a protesting squeal. Only seconds later, they heard the voice of their landlady.

“Boys, keep it down a tad, would you? It's really a little late to move furniture around, don't you think?”

John looked at Sherlock and couldn't suppress the urge to giggle. He smoothed his hands over ruffled curls and asked, his voice low,

“Should we move this to the bedroom?”

Sherlock smiled smugly.

“Oh yes,” he drawled.

“Uhm, which one?” John queried.

“Yours, of course,” Sherlock said immediately, eyebrows raised to indicate that he hadn't considered anything else. When he saw John's questioning look, he sighed, impatient but affectionate.

“For one thing, it's upstairs, so no one,” he gave the hallway a glance, “will hear us. Also, my room is... a mess. Anyway, it's closer to both kitchen and living room, and should we not need two bedrooms in the future, it will be very practical to put to another use.”

John slowly nodded.

“There's something else, isn't there?”

To his surprise, Sherlock blushed and looked embarrassed in a totally adorable way.

“Your room also...also smells like _you_. I like that,” he murmured. John felt the warm sensation of affection rise in his stomach. He didn't want to make Sherlock any more uncomfortable though, so he simply took his hand.

“Let's go there then.”

 

Inside the bedroom, Sherlock at once pulled John close, kissing him deeply as if he was afraid that John might have forgotten why they went in here.

John kissed back just as eagerly, letting his hands wander down Sherlock's back slowly until he reached the waistband of his trousers.

He hesitated for a second, then pushed both his hands inside, grabbing Sherlock's arse firmly and grinning against his mouth as he did so, because, well, Sherlock's arse was _gorgeous_ , as was pretty much the rest of him, too, and he was John's to touch now, and John's alone.

Following this thought he decided that any clothes between them were utterly unnecessary. Sherlock had obviously come to the same conclusion, because his fingers were fumbling at John's belt buckle now.

John reached down to reciprocate with slightly trembling hands.

 

Soon they were both completely naked, and John thought that it was a rather odd sensation; the feeling of being so exposed to the stare of Sherlock's grey eyes wandering over every inch of him.

At least he seemed to like what he saw, and John didn't need any other encouragement to push him onto the bed, following right after.

They were pressed together from chest to knee again, mirroring their position from earlier, only now, there was nothing in between them.

When Sherlock bucked his hips and pulled John down for another breathtaking kiss, John moaned helplessly. The friction felt _indescribable_.

Sherlock released his lips to let out a groan of his own and John seized the opportunity to lower his lips down to that long, pale throat, biting down harder than he had before, sucking warmth to the surface. Sherlock trembled beneath him, his head thrown back, eyes closed.

 

“You're so beautiful,” John breathed, his mouth close to the detective's ear now, because hell, Sherlock _was_ , he was beautiful, and John was finally, finally allowed to tell him so.

“So unbelievably gorgeous.”

His hands were sliding over the narrow chest and to the trail of hair that led down from Sherlock's navel. He took a deep breath, then he wrapped his hand around both of them.

Sherlock inhaled shakily, thrusting into John's hand, rubbing their cocks together.

The sensation felt like almost too much, too intense, but stopping was the last thing on their minds. John didn't even try to wonder why it didn't feel wrong to touch another man like that, because thinking in general had been banned from his head, fully occupied with _Sherlock_ right now, with moving and stroking and moaning and long kisses to every part of him his mouth could reach; his lips, his face, his neck, his chest.

Sherlock arched his back when John's tongue flicked over his right nipple, and his movements became increasingly desperate. He was panting.

“John, John, John, _John – Oohh._ ”

John quickly glanced up and the look on Sherlock's flushed face, his eyes squeezed shut, his mouth still forming a perfect, round 'O' was enough to tip him over the edge as well.

“Oh _God_ ,” he moaned, spending himself all over Sherlock's belly and chest, his cum mixing with the other man's.

 

All strengths went from his arms and he collapsed on top of Sherlock, whose arms immediately darted out and wrapped around John tightly. He tried to move but found it to be impossible.

“Sherlock! Will you let me get up?”

“No!” The reply was muffled as Sherlock's face was pressed against John's shoulder.

“I just want to clean us up.”

After a few seconds, the arms released him. John rolled off Sherlock with some effort and grabbed a few tissues from the box on the bedside table.

He barely had time to wipe most of Sherlock's front clean before the arms were back. John smiled, fetched the quilt from the end of the bed, pulled it over them and settled more comfortably against him.

One of his hands stroke the hair away that covered the detective's forehead and fell into his eyes, carefully drawing the line of each brow. Sherlock closed his eyes and hummed. He seemed calm in a way John had never seen him, or thought possible.

He kept the motion of his hand going, almost soothingly, and soon the other man's breathing was slow and steady.

John regarded him for a few more minutes, then he rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder and closed his eyes.

 

oOo

 

Sherlock woke from the sun shining into the room. He realized that he wasn't lying in his own bed.

Someone was wrapped closely around him, breathing into his hair. He half turned, looking directly into John's smiling face.

“How do you feel?”

Sherlock just beamed back. He recognized the smile. It was John's “I-had-amazing-sex-last-night”-smile. However it didn't go on with “please-don't-let-that-bother-you” but ”thank-you.”

“I feel absolutely a hundred percent wonderful,” he answered.

“So this is real?”

“What is?”

“Us. Last night. This.” John pressed a sweet, brief kiss over Sherlock's collarbone.

“Yes,” Sherlock replied, feeling everything ten times more intense than usual; John's strong arms around him, his breath on his own, bare skin, his heart thundering in his chest.

“This is real. If you want it to be, that is.”

“I do,” John murmured, his mouth only half an inch from Sherlock's ear.

“Just promise me something,”Sherlock went on. “Don't ever run away again.”

John half rose, steadying himself on his elbows and looked Sherlock in the eye. His gaze was very intense.

“I promise,” he said quietly, and Sherlock knew he meant it. After a few seconds, he cleared his throat, feeling the need to lighten the atmosphere.

“What would you like to do today? I don't have any cases, obviously, as I spent the last week by your bed.”

“Hmm, you could spend the next week _in_ my bed,” John suggested. Sherlock felt a strange mix of curiosity (did John actually mean that?), lust (“in bed with John” seemed to trigger a lot of positive emotions), insecurity (did John really want him to change from his usual, energetic self?) and horror ( simply at the thought of wasting so much time) at that.

John giggled and took his hand.

“Just kidding,” he confirmed. “But I get to choose what we do today?”

Sherlock nodded. A smile spread on John's face.

 

THE END


End file.
